


we've got time to start again

by transtlanticism



Category: Project Nemesis Series - Brendan Reichs
Genre: F/M, i never finish fics but Here Take My Garbage, if i cant cath avery chrysalis i can at the very least rework genesis, please, someone else please write a fic please please please, why am i listing characters when i know damn well no tag exists for them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 07:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17720870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transtlanticism/pseuds/transtlanticism
Summary: Genesis AU where Min escapes the silo instead of hiding for two months.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i did minimal editing honestly i'm sorry

Tack squeezes my trigger finger. The gun goes off. I scream, dropping it to the ground as he disappears.

“Clever son of a bitch,” Noah whispers. His hand drifts to his neck, and I stare at him, uncomprehending. “You’re safe now. Tack gave you a life to pull you from the brink.”

I’m furious. “He didn’t have to—”

“He did,” Noah snaps. “Wake up and take the gift. Tack just did a very brave thing. Now, no matter what, you’ll live to fight another day. And he’ll be out there waiting for us.”

I palm tears off my face. “Us? Do you think you can just waltz back into my life like you didn’t shoot me? Like you didn’t call me your nemesis?”

Noah flinches. “Min…”

Red lights. We’re out of time.

Noah grabs the gun and hands it back to me. “Lock the blast door. We can’t risk Ethan and Sarah finding what’s back here.”

“Let them,” I say, suddenly tired of this charade. “I’ll go inside, make them think I escaped another way. But I’m not hiding in here forever. And we’re certainly not on the same team."

It’s a waste of Tack’s gift, but I place the gun barrel to my head, shaking, leaning against the inside of the blast door as I hear Noah fight his way through our enemies. 

Can I really do this?

What choice do I have?

It’s the smart decision, I know. 

I pull the trigger. Hear a crack.

And everything goes dark. 

_…_

_I lie in the middle of the square. I’m drowning in blood._

_Tack is screaming. He’s covered in my blood. He turns and runs._

_It’s Noah. It’s always Noah, every time._

…

I wake from the longest sleep I’ve had in weeks. 

Tack isn’t next to me. I sit up suddenly, alarmed at his absence, but notice him in a patch of sunlight by the window. Catching sight of me, he flashes me a quick smile. “Morning.”

“Hey.” My head hurts less. I smooth errant strands of hair from my face and lean back on one arm. “What are you doing?”

“Breakfast.” He’s managed to scrounge a box of Corn Flakes from the cupboard and is pouring it into bowls. “Milk’s bad, but I could put some water in this?”

“Tack, that’s so gross.”

“Fine. Enjoy having giant corn shards in your mouth.” He splashes a bit of water on his cereal and hands my bowl to me, dry. “Did you sleep okay?”

Honestly? _No._ I still felt the gunshot wound that pierced me over and over last night. But I don't feel like answering that one. “Sure,” I say evasively. “You?”

“Min, come on.” He sets his soggy Corn Flakes aside, half-eaten. “First of all, you’re right, water on Corn Flakes is no good. But I’m not stupid. I…you were obviously…” He shifts, uncomfortable under my glare. “You were talking.”

Shit. “About what?” I say, as casually as I can manage.

“You said his name.” He stirs a spoon in the corn water. “And mine.” 

_God._ I shrug. “I don’t remember.”

But I do, I remember vividly with a rush that stings the back of my eyes. But even if I didn’t, I could guess, from the memory of Tack’s face, covered in my blood. The look on his face, the apology in his eyes, the promise he’ll come for me when I wake up as he runs. 

Sometimes I dream I’m out of lives when it happens. 

_I lose. So I die._

Sometimes I die in other ways. The elevator scene replays in my mind sometimes. Other times it’s my original deaths, the one falling into Gullet Chasm or being rammed by the hood of a car. But Noah is always there, like the edge of the dream is fraying into a million pieces with his face on each of them. 

Tack has never been in it before. When I dream about Tack, we’re sitting in the Ski Lift, or walking home from school, or drinking coffee at Valley Grounds. I once had one about the day of the Announcement, sitting between Tack and my mother, even though he wasn’t there with us that night. In the dream, he sits next to me, holding my hand tightly as we stare at a blank TV screen.

The dreams with Tack are okay. I’m glad to wake up and see his face next to me, still asleep. This is the first morning he’s woken up before me. 

When Sarah and Ethan cornered us in the silo last week, I knew what I wanted to do: hide in the silo until I could sneak past them. But I knew I would never be able to. So I made the decision: I shot myself in the head. 

Tack was waiting for me at Sarah’s reset zone.  _“Lucky guess,”_ he said then.  _“Are you okay? Where’s Noah?”_

_“I don’t care,”_ I said.  _“What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you do that?”_

“ _What, save your life?”_ he scowled.  _“I’m not apologizing.”_

We’ve been hiding in the trailer park ever since. 

“It doesn’t matter,” I say now, shortly, as he opens his mouth again, collecting our empty bowls and rolling my eyes at the murky water still in his. “I’m fine." 

But Tack doesn’t let up. “Just…tell me,” he says. “Did I hurt you? In the dream?”

He looks scared. Scared that he’s become one of the demons that haunts me in the night.

“No,” I blurt. “God. No. Tack, it’s okay. I’m okay. You didn’t…” I shake my head. “You’re fine.” 

He exhales slightly, and I can see it’s been eating at him all night. “I can kill Noah for you,” he offers. “If you want.” 

I snort, standing up and crossing to the sink. “It’s fine.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” He ambles towards the bathroom. “I need a shower, and, frankly, so do you.” 

…

We regroup an hour later in the living room. Tack darts outside, is gone for five minutes, and returns toting his favorite cardboard monstrosity, setting it on the floor before us. 

“First things first,” he says. “We need to take a vote. Before I even propose the vote, I would like to say that my vote is no and that he should die. So: should we regroup with Noah?”

He sort of grimaces as he says Noah’s name, like a pill he doesn’t want to swallow. 

I hesitate. Noah’s help was invaluable in the silo, but only because he had a gun. And he had walked me there at gunpoint. 

Nope. I’m still not ready to trust Noah yet, and walking ourselves up the slopes like fish bait is trusting him. “No,” I echo. “Noah knows where we are. If he wants to talk to us, he can come find us himself.”

Tack hesitates. “That’s the second thing. I think we need to evacuate.” 

I arch an eyebrow. “Just because he knows where we are?”

“He could tell anyone. He could tell _Ethan.”_

“Ethan thinks we were living at Starlight’s Edge,” I inform him. “Or, Toby does, anyway. Actually…” I frown. Tack is right, but not for the reason he thinks. “Now that the summer camp is gone, he might assume we came back here. So we should probably bail.” 

“That’s the spirit,” Tack crows. “So. Where to?”

My mind skips over Fire Lake’s geography. “None of the houses are safe,” I say. “Downtown is a nightmare. We’re not going anywhere near Noah’s crew. The silo is compromised. The summer camp is dangerous. The woods are full of people resetting. The quarry kids aren’t going to let us in, not after what happened before.” I twist a strand of hair between my fingers, thinking. Then it comes to me.

“I’ve got it,” I say, snapping my fingers. “It might be inhabited, but it’s worth the risk.”

Tack folds his arms. “Do tell.” 

“Liberty camp.” I stand up, start gathering our belongings. “Let’s go.” 

…

The air outside is a snap of cold as we step out of the trailer. I hesitate, gazing around the space, somehow wondering if I’ll ever see this place again. Tack has no such reservations, a Sharpie tucked into his back pocket, cardboard map stuffed into his backpack. It’s sunny outside, a little brighter than I would have liked, and I’m squinting into it.

Tack glances at me, then sets his backpack down at my feet. “I’ll be right back,” he says. “Give me thirty seconds.” Then he’s off, dashing down the row towards the back corner.

“Tack!” I hiss, but he doesn’t return. 

I wait. Thirty seconds. One minute. Two.

At the three-minute mark, Tack comes racing back towards me, something in his hands. “Here,” he says with an impish grin. “You forgot something.”

My breath catches. It’s the sunglasses. My birthday sunglasses. Or, at least, a digital recreation of them. 

“What about you?” I ask.

“Sun doesn’t bother me.” He flips his hood up as I slide the glasses on. “Also, this. Probably useless, but fully charged.” 

My phone, the power cord curled around it. I know it’s basically a brick, but it feels good to have it back in my hand. I press the home button, lighting up my lock screen, a picture I took of the valley covered in snow from the top of Miner’s Peak. 

_Almost everyone in this picture is dead now._

I shut the phone off and tuck it into my back pocket. “Let’s go.” 

“Gun?” 

I tap my jacket pocket. 

“Good. Let’s go.” 

We slip through the break in the back fence, backpacks crashing against our spines, setting off at a brisk walk into the forest. 


	2. Chapter 2

The route we end up taking to avoid Ethan’s ridiculous kingdom is hotly debated before we leave.

“The waterfront isn’t safe,” I say, adjusting my backpack over one shoulder. “Colleen is still down there, and don’t forget about the fishermen. I don’t trust them for a minute.” 

Tack scowls.  “We can handle a few fishermen.” 

“If they were so defenseless, they wouldn’t still be there.” I jab a finger towards the mountains. “Noah won’t shoot us down if we pass.”

“Famous last words,” Tack fires back. “I seem to recall hearing that before. And you’re on the brink.”

“Which is why we need to take our chances with Noah!”

“The walk takes longer,” Tack argues. “We have to circle the entire valley. That’s basically a free pass for literally _anyone_ to take a shot at us.” 

“The waterfront is target practice for Ethan’s squad.”

“So is—”

“Noah won’t shoot us!”

Tack’s eyes flare with anger. “Are you willing to stake your life on that? Because I’m not.”

I bite back an angry reply. _He’s right._

I speak calmly. “It’s either trust Noah,” I say, “or trust people who are actively trying to kill us. And don’t forget the summer camp. Neb thinks it was us who shot him.” 

Tack’s mouth twists. “I don’t like it. He knows how many lives you have.” He hesitates, idly stripping the bark off a tree. “You need to pick up a few.”

“Out of the question,” I say immediately. 

“Take one of mine.”

“I’m not putting you on the brink, Tack!”

He winces. “I’m not, actually. I’m even right now.”

“What—oh.” The silo. I’d forgotten. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not shooting you.”

“Shove me off a cliff,” he suggests. “Shooting is easiest, but you need to kill me.” 

“Tack, the reset teams—”

“I’ve dodged them every time before,” he says. “It’s fine, Min. Shoot me. I’ll meet you at the liberty camp.” 

I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing he’s not going to let this go. “No.”

“Shoot me.”

“I’m not doing this right now,” I say firmly. As he opens his mouth, “We'll take the goddamn waterfront if you leave this alone.” 

His expression sours. “Fine,” he says. “On one condition.”

“What? That was _my_ condition!”

“I have an addendum. If things get sticky, you need to shoot me immediately. That’s the only way we’re going anywhere.”

“I can’t just—”

“That’s the only way. You have to promise me.” His eyes lock on mine, demanding an affirmation. And…I knew in his place, I would ask for the same.

“Fine,” I hiss. “Fine. But we’d better do everything we can to make sure we don’t get into that situation.”

“Off we go!” Tack practically skips through the woods, and I mentally replay our conversation in my head. How had he manipulated a compromise into working for him in every way?

I realize I’m grinning. _That’s Tack for you._

…

We approach the summer camp very carefully. 

“Looks pretty freaking deserted,” Tack whispers. “Should we just make a dash for it?”

“FREEZE!”

The voice is rough. A girl with pale blonde hair and a steady hand aims a gun in our general direction. Emma Vogel.

“Who is it?” she shouts.

“It’s Min and Tack!” I call. “We’re just passing through!”

“You shot Neb,” Emma growls. “I should blast the two of you into cyberspace.” 

“That was Toby!” Tack yells, giving me a meaningful look. I realize what he means, and shake my head. “Do it,” he growls. “Before she offs you.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” 

“You don’t need to believe us,” I snap. “Just let us go by. We’re not here to shoot anyone, and we didn’t shoot Neb. Toby did, and then killed both of us.” 

Emma hesitates. 

“Drop the gun,” Tack orders. “We’re leaving, unless you want me to take you out first.”

“Get out of here.” She lowers the weapon. “And feel free to pay Toby back for that if you see him.”

“We’ll make a note of it,” Tack says dryly.

I shove Tack down the path. “Thank you, Emma. And if we need to come back this way—”

“Find a different route,” Emma suggests. She turns and slams the door behind her.

“She’s friendly,” Tack remarks.

I elbow him. “Yeah, and you’re a flawless diplomat.” 

“It could have been my career path,” Tack mourns. “Oh, well. The world was robbed of my talents.” 

“Other way around,” I remind him. “We were robbed of the world.” 

“Right. That’s worse.” Tack’s expression darkens slightly before he scampers forward. “Let’s go throw down with some dock-dwellers.”

It’s another mile before we’re near the lake. The Program coding is impeccable—I watch the trees as we walk; they’re lit with sunlight in all the right places. The leaves under my feet crumble with the perfect crispness, the rocks clatter against each other just as they always have. I can feel my neck heat under the mountain sun and tug my hood up just enough so that my skin won’t burn. Tack begins to hum under his breath, slightly off-key, but realizes quickly we’re supposed to be keeping silent. It’s hard to remember that this isn’t a normal hike through the woods. We’re running for our lives. 

“Look alive.” Tack nudges me. “Water ahead.”

I give him an exasperated look. “I know where the lake is.”

We approach stealthily. The trees above the water look abandoned, but we’re careful anyway. Tack pulls out his gun, slides the safety off.

“Be careful,” I warn. 

His gaze slides to me. “If they get me, you need to take the kill shot so you can get my life.”

I grind my teeth, but Tack is already inching forward, leaving me no choice but to follow. 

We’re far past the sanitation plant when I spot trouble. “Stop,” I whisper. We’re on a precipice over the water, and I can see footprints snaking around a cabin nestled in the trees.

The Harden cabin. 

 _Oh, Christ._ I’d forgotten Sarah’s family owned a tiny shack in the middle of the woods, a few miles from Starlight’s Edge. But someone else clearly hadn’t. Risky, going to ground in a place Sarah could visit any time, but I guessed whoever it was had assumed no one else would want to break into Sarah’s cabin. 

Tack shoots me a questioning look, tips his head towards the door. _Should we go in?_

I hesitate. It would be useful to know who’s inside, but bursting in with guns blazing might go sideways, fast. Especially if there are multiple people inside.

And then I’d be dead. 

“Windows,” I whisper. Tack nods, and we split up around the sides of the cabin. I climb up on a stack of firewood piled below a window and hoist my elbows onto the sill to get a glimpse inside. My jaw drops.

Curled up in front of a fire with her nose buried in a sketchbook is Alice Cho.

I meet Tack’s wide eyes at the opposite window and duck down before Alice catches a glimpse of me. We reconvene in the trees. 

“Oh my God,” I say. “Is she alone?"

“Pretty fucking nuts, breaking into Sarah’s cabin.” Tack shoves hair from his eyes. “I would guess she’s alone. I know where most of her friends are. Most are with Ethan, but that one girl Leah is with Noah." 

“Jesus.” I take a minute to organize my thoughts. “Should we go in? Maybe we can team up with her. She hasn’t been in Fire Lake long enough to have any strong alliances, right? She was new last year.”

Tack suddenly jerks his head up. Then he loops an arm around my waist and drags me to the ground. My elbows crash into the dirt and I twist away from Tack, but the look on his face makes me freeze. Seconds later, I hear the roll of tires as an ATV pulls up to the cabin.

“Who is it?” I can’t quite make out the person’s face, but dimly recognize the stature. It’s definitely a girl. “One of Alice’s friends? Is it Leah?”

“No.” Tack’s face is stone. “It’s Sarah.” 

 _Shit._ I steel myself, reaching for my gun. _I should do it. Give Alice a chance to run before Sarah finds her and drags her to the cells._

But I hesitate, and it’s too late. The door flew open, and I brace myself for a scream.

It doesn’t come.

“Took you long enough,” Alice says.

 _Huh?_ Tack looks just as bewildered as I am. 

I can hear the smile on Sarah’s face. “Sorry. Got caught up at the silo. You can’t hide there anymore, by the way.” 

“So you told Ethan, then?” The door shuts, and Tack and I scramble to the firewood pile under the window to hear better. “What’s he going to do? Does he know you knew about it before?”

“Probably not, but I had to take it.” Sarah's voice is laced with annoyance. “Min and Noah were lurking in there, doing God knows what. Looking at files, messing around with the Program. They don’t know what they’re doing. I had Ethan storm the silo. Tack, too,” she adds as an afterthought. “He follows Min around like a lapdog.”

Tack bristles. “Bitch,” he mouths. 

Alice snorts. “Min is persistent, I’ll give her that. Where is she now?”

“Somewhere,” Sarah says dismissively. “She shot herself to escape. She could be dead by now. But I’ve got to get to work on those files, so I’ll deal with her when she comes crawling back.” 

“I doubt she’s dead,” Alice says. I hear the clink of a cup against a counter. “I’m just surprised she’s back with Noah. Didn’t he murder her?”

“I’ll never claim to understand straight people.”

 _What?_ I glance at Tack, who has a look of dawning realization on his face. He listens for a moment, but they don’t say anything further, so he tugs me away from the window.

“They’re together,” he reasons quietly. “That’s why we didn’t know Alice and Sarah are allies. It’s because they’re dating. Sarah’s keeping it a secret so that no one can use Alice against her to undermine her, and to keep Alice safe from the game in a cabin no one remembered existed.” 

“ _Oh._ ” It all makes enormous sense. “Wow. Sarah and Alice? I thought Sarah would pick more of a…genocidal maniac,” I say. “Not an art kid.”

“Same thing,” Tack says absently, eyeing the ATV.

“What?” I look from the ATV to Tack’s raised eyebrows. “No. Oh, no.” Extraordinarily bad idea. 

“Come on. We have to bail,” he insists. “We can take off, Sarah won’t be able to chase us down. It’s perfect.” 

“It’s dangerously stupid. Sarah might be trapped here, but all her cronies in town aren’t. They could corner us.”

“Sarah can’t warn anyone,” Tack counters smugly. “She needs to protect Alice’s location.”

I glare. He holds my stare levelly. 

“You’re such an idiot.” I climb onto the ATV. “I’m driving. Let’s get the hell out of here before she sees who we are.”

“Let’s go!” Tack clambers on behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist as I rev the engine and we go screaming into the trees, disappearing in a cloud of dust before Sarah can even open the door.

And we’re gone.


	3. Chapter 3

We have to ditch the ATV before we reach the docks.

“It’s stupid leaving it like this,” Tack says doggedly. For the fifth time. “Sarah might find it and know exactly where we’re headed.”

“What are we supposed to do with it? Carry it?”

“I’ve got an idea.” Tack checks for tire tracks behind us, but they wore off long before we reached this point. “Cover me. Make sure no one’s hanging around here.”

“What are you doing?” I hiss, but he’s climbed half-onto the vehicle and started the engine. “Tack!”

“Just wait!” He slams the gas pedal, eliciting a loud roar from the machine, then releases the brake and flies off, knocking me over so the two of us topple to the grass. I distantly hear a giant splash as the ATV shoots forward and crashes into the lake. 

We sit in silence, watching the water bubble and churn.

“Well done,” I say. “Everyone in a fifty-mile radius knows exactly where we are.”

“Not if we get out of here.” He jumps to his feet and I can’t help but smile at the goofy grin on his face. I have to admit that it wasn’t a bad plan—any trace of the ATV is gone, and there’s nothing to tie it to us if we get out of here before anything happens.

“Dock?” Tack stretches out a hand, and I grab it. 

“Dock.”

We run. My gun bounces off my hip, secured in my jacket pocket, and the wind keeps picking up, sending my hair in a tangle over my face. It’s too short to secure in a ponytail, and I keep trying to claw it out of my eyes.

“Try this.” Tack draws me behind a tree and unwraps a gaudy yellow bandana from his wrist. “Might keep it off of your face.”

I flip the bandana inside out so that its paler side is showing and tie it around my head. I look like a dairy farmer, but it doesn’t really matter. The goal is that no one sees me. “Thanks,” I breathe. “Let’s go.” 

Hands joined. Feet pounding in tandem. We reach the dock in minutes, crouching by a post to survey the area. Tack reaches for the post to keep his balance, then yanks his hand back. “Ow! Freaking splinters.”

“Shh!” I hit his arm. “The whole world is listening. I can’t believe you talked me into stealing the ATV of the most dangerous person in Fire Lake.” 

He grumbles incoherently, pulling a slice of wood from his index finger and flicking it towards the water. “Coast is clear,” he reports, scanning the area. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” 

“And go where?” a voice growls.

I almost fall into the water, but Tack seizes my arm to steady me. Three guns are pointed at us from directly under the dock.

Casey. Lauren. Dakota. 

Casey wiggles out from under the dock, splashing through the water and climbing onto land. The legs of her jeans are drenched below the knee, but she doesn’t look bothered, collecting her sneakers from where they’re looped around a post and stringing them over her shoulder. “Min and Tack,” she says. “Drop your guns, strip down, and leave your backpacks with us. Now, or I’ll send you right through the spin cycle.”

Tack casts me a panicked look. Neither option sounds particularly appealing, but the second only ends one way. 

He looks at me. “Do it,” he says. “We have to.” 

I exhale shakily. “I’m dropping my gun,” I say. “I’m putting it down.”

As Casey turns to glance at her companions, I turn and blast a hole through Tack’s chest. He gasps and drops, blood immediately spilling down to the lake. His body vanishes, leaving his gun and backpack behind.

“What the _fuck?”_ Casey erupts, stumbling backward, and I grab Tack’s backpack and bolt. Shots explode at my feet, carving holes in the dock, but I don’t stop running. 

_One gun down. That was stupid._

I can’t shake the memory of Tack’s face, and tears streak my face as I dash down the dock and bolt for the tree line on the opposite side. The liberty camp sits just off of Gullet Chasm, and I don’t know who or what is waiting for me there, but by this point I’ve alerted half of our classmates to my location, and that’s the only place I can think of to hole up.

_Tack will meet me there. Just a few hours. I can do it._

_I shot him. He made me shoot him._

But I have an extra life. I’m not going to die today.

_…_

There are voices drifting from the biggest building. I almost don’t have the heart to pull out my gun, but I do, and, briefly acknowledging the fact that Tack would kill me for this, I knock on the door. 

Dead silence. 

“Who’s there?” a gruff voice barks. 

I don’t answer. Knock again. 

“Jesus.” A female voice sounds panicked. “Is it Ethan’s guys? We have to get out of here—our guns don’t even have bullets in them.”

Unarmed. I relax a fraction and twist the handle, stepping inside with my gun still raised. Just in case. 

“What the f—” Aiken Talbot sputters, seeing me in the doorway. “Min Wilder? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Sorry.” I kick the door shut and pocket my gun, letting both backpacks drop to the floor. “Tack and I thought this place might be deserted. The trailer park is compromised, and we had nowhere else to go.”

“Is he outside?” Aiken demands. 

I shake my head. “We ran into trouble and he took a reset.” I decide not to mention that I’m the one who reset him. 

“Min. Hey.” Anna Loring, standing in a doorway, lowers the gun she has pointing at me. “Where’s Thumbtack?”

“Hopefully, on his way.” I untie the bandana on my head, letting my hair fall around my face. “Sorry to burst in. I wasn’t sure whether anyone was here.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” Anna offers, glaring at Aiken as he opens his mouth to protest. “Seriously. Hector is here as well. We’ve got some food, supplies...but we’re out of ammunition.”

I crouch and dig through Tack’s bag, unpacking the extra guns and bullets we brought. “I can help with that.”

“What’s this?” Aiken yanks Tack’s cartographic disaster from the backpack. “Why is there a G.I. Joe taped to this thing?”

I suppress a grin. “Intel. We’ve marked the positions of everyone we can. And after today, I have a few things to add.”

Anna’s finger shoots out. “Who’s at Starlight’s Edge?”

“Neb, Emma, Liesel, Corbin, and Isaiah,” I list. “And someone’s staying a few miles west—Alice Cho. Sarah’s keeping her under protection, and I think they’re dating.”

Aiken looks almost impressed. “How do you figure that one?”

“I overheard them talking. Then Tack and I stole Sarah’s ATV and crashed it into the lake.”

“Is that how he died?” The impressed look is gone. 

“No! Casey Beam—the soccer girls accosted us at the dock. It’s been a long day.” I shove a tangled clump of hair behind my ears. “I’m just worried about Tack. Ethan has teams positioned at the reset zones to bring people to jail. They already got me once, but I escaped.”

“Min!”

I turn as Hector Quino strides through the door towards me. He hugs me, then surveys the two backpacks at my feet. “No Tack?”

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

“He’ll show up,” Hector says confidently. “He wouldn’t leave you alone.”

I relax slightly. Hector’s right. No matter what happens at the reset zone, Tack would walk through hell or high water to get back to me. The kid would hitch a ride with the devil himself if it meant stopping at the liberty camp first.

“Tell us about this,” Aiken says, tapping a spot to the east of the trailer park. “What’s over here? Isn’t this that shady government land?”

I cough. “Yeah. About that.” I level Aiken’s gaze, deciding to share with the three most unlikely people ever to abuse this information. “We found Project Nemesis headquarters in an old missile silo. Noah, Tack and I were chased out of there by Sarah and Ethan. Sarah’s in control of headquarters now.”

“Noah?” Anna looks slightly repulsed. “Why was he with you?”

“He walked me there at gunpoint. I don’t trust him,” I say quickly. “But I think he trusts me.”

“Clearly.” 

“Where is Noah now?” Hector’s eyes dart to the door as if expecting Noah to burst through it with his ever-present hunting knife at any second. 

“Probably camped out in the ski lodge. We didn’t regroup after I escaped—Tack and I hid in the trailer park for a few days and then decided to check out the liberty camp to see if it was occupied.”

“It is,” Aiken grumbles.

Anna gives him a withering look, then turns to me. “Come on. Are you hungry? You and Tack can stay in one of the outbuildings. The one next to Hector’s is most inhabitable.”

“Thanks,” I say, and follow her out of the room.

…

It’s 10 PM when Hector, Aiken, and Anna trudge off to bed. I stay up, gnawing on a fingernail, watching the door. 

_He should be here by now. He should have been here before sundown. He should have been here two hours after I was._

_What if he’s in a jail cell? What if he’s out of lives? What if he thinks I’m not here, and he’s looking somewhere else?_

There’s a creak outside. I lunge for my gun, arms shaking slightly, then scramble to my feet as something lurches against the door. 

Step. Step. 

The door flies open. A gun barrel is pointed directly at my face. 


	4. Chapter 4

Seconds later, I hear it hit the armchair with a thud as Tack and I collide in a strangling hug. 

“Where were you?” I demand, shoving him backwards to get a look at him. “What is all over you? Is that _blood_?”

“Not mine,” he says distantly. “I’m sorry I’m late. Are we alone here?”

“No,” I say, then, as he reaches for the gun, “but it’s okay. It’s Aiken, Anna and Hector. They’re letting us stay.”

Tack relaxes a fraction. “At least we know they’re not with Noah or Ethan.”

A light flickers. “Is that Tack?” Anna calls. 

“Hey, Anna.”

“Hi, Thumbtack. Make yourself at home.” A muffled grunt echoes behind her. “Shut up, Aiken!”

Tack’s eyes land on his map. “You got my bag?”

I roll my eyes. “It had the guns. I didn’t save it for your art project.” 

He looks tired, worn, like he’s grateful to be anywhere safe right now. I pull him into another hug. “I am really glad you’re okay. I kept picturing you in one of Ethan’s jail cells.”

“You’re not far off,” he says darkly, glancing at his bloody sweatshirt. He pulls it over his head, revealing an equally stained white shirt beneath it. “Some of our classmates aren’t here to make friends. But that’s okay, because I’m not, either.”

“That was our goal at one point,” I remind him dryly. 

“It was before I ran into our good buddies downtown.” He picks up his gun from the chair and scoops up his map. “Where are we crashing tonight?”

“The third outbuilding,” I say. “Tell me what happened.”

As we head into the building, Tack hits the light in the pitch-black room and sighs, taking a seat on the ratty couch. 

“After you shot me,” he says, “I woke up in your clearing and thought no one was watching the zone, so I started heading west. The alternative was circling back through the woods and passing the summer camp again, and Emma Vogel would definitely not have let me pass again, so I decided to risk sneaking around the edge of town.”

I inhale, sitting down next to him. He winces at the memory. 

“Bad idea,” I say.

“Yeah.” He runs a shaky hand through his hair—also matted with blood, I notice. “Spencer was watching the streets from a roof. He shot me in the shoulder.”

My gaze immediately shoots to Tack’s shoulder, but it looks uninjured. “You took a _second_ reset?”

“Not immediately.” His face twists slightly. “Lars grabbed me from the street, dragged me up to the high school. That is, apparently, where Toby has a small interrogation center set up. He had Liesel Patterson in there, too. He was using the spotlight in the auditorium as the light, shining it right in our faces…and a knife.” 

My blood is cold. “What the fuck did he do to you?”

“Not a lot.” Tack clears his throat. “I actually managed to shear the rope with the knife he was holding and kick him off the stage. He hit his head and, uh, stood up, and I tried to get the knife from him, and he stabbed me.”

“So this is your blood,” I say numbly.

“Nope.” Tack tilts his head back, as if to try to will the memory out of his head. “Corbin was looking for Liesel, and he found us, and he shot Toby in the head.”

I try to picture meek Corbin with a gun. _Shooting_ someone. I can’t.

But I know Tack is telling the truth.

“So I bled out there, woke up in Ethan’s old spot, dodged Derrick and his reset team—had an altercation with them, managed to snag a gun—and headed straight here.” Tack looks sideways at me. “Did the soccer girls get you?” 

I shake my head. “I just grabbed your bag and ran. They tried, but they didn’t get me.”

“Jesus.” Tack reaches for my hand, and I grip his tightly. “I’m glad you’re here. I was worrying about you the whole time. Toby…he has some interesting interrogation techniques.”

“What did he want to know?” 

“Where you were. What I knew about where other people were hiding. Anything I’d learned about Noah in the silo.” Tack lifts his shoulders. “I didn’t say anything.”

The way Tack tells the story, he makes it sound like he escaped immediately. I get the sense that there’s more he isn’t telling me.

I stand up and grab my backpack, heading for one of the two bedrooms, leaving Tack to take the other. “Are you okay?” I ask finally, pausing at the door. “Are you going to be fine?”

He gives me the ghost of a smile. “I’m fine, Melinda J. I made it back fine.” 

…

I don’t know what time it is. My phone, which Tack rescued from my trailer and miraculously stayed in my pocket during our harrowing journey, says 1:56 AM, but it’s disconnected from the Internet, so I don’t know for sure. I can’t sleep after having woken up from a nightmare in which Toby holds a knife to Tack’s face, slowly slicing off layers of his skin one at a time, asking him questions, asking him _where is Min, where is your meeting place?_ But Tack stays silent, bleeding silently, suffering silently. 

I think I was crying when I woke up. I resist the urge to go find Tack. He doesn’t need to be bothered by my personal drama tonight. 

But after another fifteen minutes, I can’t take another second of being alone. I throw off the scratchy blanket, grab my pillow and walk down the hall to Tack’s room. He sits up and blinks at me as I open the door.

“Min?”

“Can I stay here?” I blurt, feeling childish.

“Of course.” Tack immediately slides over, giving me space to crawl under the covers. “Do you need more room, or…?”

“No. I’m good.” I exhale shakily. “Sorry. I just…I couldn’t be alone right now.”

“Was it a nightmare?” His eyes are navy in the dim light, not demanding the truth from me, just asking. 

So I nod, and he wraps an arm around me. His hair is wet from the shower he took, but there’s no trace of blood anywhere on him, so I let my eyes drift close and I fall asleep to the rhythm of Tack’s breathing.

…

When I wake, Tack is still asleep. His hair dried overnight and lies now in a wild tangle over the pillow. It’s probably good that he’s still sleeping—he needs it. The lack of jokes and sarcastic commentary last night scared me. Tack usually never lets anything pierce his bravado.

_I’m going to murder Toby._

As if roused by my unexpectedly violent thought, Tack’s eyes snap open. “Min.”

“Hi.” I lift my head to glance out the window. It’s raining slightly, and fog is rolling in off the lake. All in all, extraordinarily dreary weather. “Sorry about last night. Bursting in like that.”

“Don’t be,” he says, eyes searching my face. He stretches his arms above his head, cracking his double-jointed elbows. (It’s so annoying.) “I’m glad you showed.”

It occurs to me that we slept really close together last night. Heat rises to my face, and I try to push it down, rolling out of bed and collecting my pillow. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Cranking on the water, I see Tack’s clothes, wet and hanging on the shower door. A lot of the blood is gone, but splotchy stains remain, and my vision goes fuzzy at the edges. I grab the wall to steady myself. 

_Tack’s okay. He’s okay. That isn’t his blood._

_Corbin shot Toby. Corbin. Shot. Toby._

But the reasoning has an echo: _Toby tortured Tack._

_God._

After my shower, I rifle through the drawers in my room and yank a blue Loggerhead Island Research Institute sweatshirt over my head. Tack isn’t anywhere in the building, so I walk over to Aiken and Anna’s. 

“Hey, Min’s here!” Hector’s sprawled in a chair. “Min, we’ve got frozen French toast sticks if you want anyway.”

“Thanks. Where’s Tack?”

“Went for a walk,” Aiken supplies. “That was probably...twenty minutes ago.”

“What?” I stick my head out the door, but Tack is nowhere in sight. “Where?”

“I don’t know.” Hector looks troubled. “He wouldn’t tell us.”

I growl in frustration and grab my gun off the table. “I’ll be back,” I say. “Right after I kill him for risking his life.”

Before I can make good on my threat, the door flies open and Tack strolls in, something in his arms. My jaw drops. 

“Is that...a fish?” I manage. 

Tack holds up his prize. “I’m about to smell like hell. But I got something better than toast.”

“We have to clean and gut that thing?” Anna looks horrified. “Does anyone...know how to do that?”

“I got it,” Tack says. “My dad taught Min and I years ago.”

I vividly remember the day. It was windy on the lake, and Wendell Russo borrowed a friend’s canoe to teach Tack how to fish. Tack and I were inseparable, so I came along. We were thirteen that summer, and we came back with sun on our faces and wind in our hair, smelling like fish guts. It’s still one of my favorite memories.

But I have more questions. “Tack, how did you get that? We don’t...there aren’t any animals in the valley.”

“Aren’t there?” Tack’s fish-free hand grabs my wrist and guides me to the door. “Listen. Do you hear it?”

I’m about to ask what the hell he’s talking about when something demands my attention. A sound. 

A whistle. 

Birds. 

“What?” I turn to Tack, to the door, to the fish. “Are we back? Is this the real Fire Lake? Are we alive?”

“Not a chance,” Aiken scowls. 

Tack’s eyes are troubled. “We have no way of knowing.”

“Maybe the Program changed,” Anna suggests. 

It hits me. “Fuck. Sarah’s probably messing with the MegaCom. Goddamn it.”

“She can add animals?” Aiken glares at the fish. “Fuck that. I’m not eating that. It’s probably poisoned.”

Tack rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m tired of frozen rations. I’m having some fish. Min?”

“I just showered,” I protest, and he grins. 

One hour later, after vigorous hand-washing and several rounds of Anna’s scented hand sanitizer, a still vaguely fishy-smelling Tack joins us with food. It’s still hot, but I dig in, not having had fish in a very, very long time. 

“Jesus, Min," Aiken says. "Wolf it down faster.”

Anna smacks Aiken on the shoulder. “Would you quit it?”

“Some of us are hungry,” I retort. “But I guess you would rather smear the fish oil in your hair.”

Tack guffaws. Anna suppresses a grin. 

Tack and I clean up after breakfast. “What the hell possessed you to walk down to the dock?” I demand as he scrubs his hands under the tap. “You could have been killed!”

“But I wasn’t.”

“You could have been kidnapped,” I spit. “Tortured in Toby’s goddamn interrogation chamber. I’m not looking for an opportunity to break you out of prison, so don’t make me do it!”

He’s silent, searching my face. 

“I scared you,” he says. 

“You being hurt scares me.”

He doesn’t smell like fish anymore, just like lemon soap and the cheap shampoo from the shower in our building and the dust from the ratty sweater he’s wearing. And there’s that underlying _Tack_ smell, iron and coffee and the spearmints he's always eating. 

“I’m not hurt,” he says quietly. “I’m fine. See?” He spreads his arms. “No knife wounds, no bullet holes.”

I narrow my eyes. “Resets don’t heal psychological scars.” 

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t have any.” 

I squeeze my eyes shut. Open them. _So irritating._ “Fine. Walk into the middle of town and offer yourself as a sacrifice for all I care. Deliver yourself to the front steps of Town Hall like a badly wrapped Christmas present. See if I come after you to break you out of Toby’s theatrical torture production. I won’t.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

I resist the urge to kick him in the shin. “Good.”

He studies me for a moment, then turns away and starts scrubbing a plate. I slam a fork on the counter and walk out of the room.

“What’s the drama?” Aiken inquires. “Breakup on the horizon?”

“Huh?” The question throws me. “We aren't together.”

He glances sidelong at Anna, who’s rolling her eyes. “Right,” she says. “And Aiken and I are just friends.”

“I’m serious. I’m not with Tack.” 

Aiken whistles. “‘Kay.” 

I open my mouth, then close it and shake my head. There’s no use arguing with them. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i havent touched this fic since before chrysalis but here's another chapter anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to delete the piñata full of bees line but tabby made me keep it so blame her

There’s nothing to do around here. 

I’m still annoyed with Tack, so I make it a point to avoid being wherever he is, and he’s busy needling Aiken and Anna for information, so I end up chatting with Hector for most of the day. He’s still not entirely convinced this isn’t purgatory, but acknowledges that a computer simulation is a more likely explanation for our current situation. 

“In a way,” he says, “we are being tested. Except we’re being tested by ourselves.”

“And the Guardian,” I add.

“Him, too.” He glances at me with interest. “You knew him before, right? As a beta for this process?”

I nod grimly. “I’ve run across him a few times. Or he’s run _over_ me.” 

Hector barks a laugh. “This resurrection process is old hat to you.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Tell me about the deaths,” he requests. And I do. I tell him about the canyon, the waterfall, the car, the rock climb, the gunshot in my bedroom. I tell him about waking up in the woods, terrified out of my mind. My diagnosis with dissociative disorder. The years I spent doubting myself. The footprint at the back of my trailer. 

When I get to the night when Tack, Noah and I snuck into the military base, Hector’s eyes widened. “You infiltrated government property? In the middle of the night?”

“They almost shot Tack.” I swallow. “Killed him, just for walking into those woods. He wouldn’t let me save him.”

“I get that,” Hector says. “You’ve known him your entire life—he’s like a brother to you, right?”

I hear Aiken snicker across the room, even as I involuntarily recoil. “What? No. Definitely not.” 

“Interesting,” Anna sings quietly. I risk a glance across the room. Tack is sitting stiffly against the wall, looking wholly uncomfortable.

It’s not a secret that Tack used to have feelings for me. _But we_ _’_ _re past that now, aren_ _’_ _t we? Now that this Noah thing is over?_

We’re just trying to survive out here, I reason. There isn’t time for this. 

“Right.” Hector doesn’t comment. “And after that…”

“They brought us into the square,” I say. “You were there that day. We all died right there, in the middle of the valley.”

Hector shudders slightly. “I remember.”

He looks tired. So do Aiken and Anna. So does Tack. I’m tired, too. 

“How long do you think this will go on?” Anna’s question hangs in the air like a piñata that no one wants to hit for fear it will be full of bees. No one offers an answer.

“For fucking ever,” Tack finally mumbles. “Or until we all die.”

“Cheerful,” Aiken remarks. 

The day drags on. I turn to my phone, as was habit for most of my life before the program, but it's depressingly empty. All social media is frozen on the same stories from the day of the collection and the Internet connection is nonexistent. I scroll through old text messages, photos, and notes I’ve jotted down—accounts of my previous deaths, a story I once tried to write before completely giving up, arguments with Tack in a shared document we both typed in during class. 

I switch back to photos, scroll all the way to the beginning. The first picture I ever took at thirteen years old was of Tack, standing at the trailer park gate, giving me a mischievous smile and holding up a firework. After that is a video, the two of us at Tip-Top Grove, Tack with a lighter he stole from his father. The two of us had scrambled down the path and watched the fireworks explode into the sky. We got in trouble that night, but it had been so worth it.

I shoot a glance at Tack. He’s staring out the window now, the setting sun catching the angles of his face and brightening his eyes to a luminous sapphire. 

I wonder if he remembers that night. 

There are pictures of school, of our coffee at Valley Grounds, of the time Tack tried to climb on top of my trailer and sprained his ankle, of us in the Ski Lift. Pictures of a stray cat I found, of the time we played hide and seek in the grocery store, of us sitting next to my fire pit. Always Tack and Min, Min and Tack. Inseparable, even in literal death.

_Tack and Min. Min and Tack._ I briefly recall Mrs. Ferguson at school, calling us bad pennies, and a half smile flickers briefly across my face.

“Something funny?” Aiken presses.

“Nope.”

“Hope you weren’t thinking she was going to say you,” Tack says dryly. “Because you’re not terribly amusing.”

“Yeah, you’re a laugh a minute yourself, Thumbtack.”

Anna throws her head back. “Everyone shut up,” she groans. “I’m so bored in here, and picking fights isn’t a valid form of entertainment.” 

“Bored is safe,” Hector reminds her. “As long as nothing’s happening, we’re safe.”

Aiken chucks a pillow at him. “That’s so dumb. I want to go outside and strangle Ethan.”

I glare at him. “That’s not going to get us anywhere except imprisoned or dead.” 

“Yes, but it’s therapeutic. Murder is okay if it’s therapeutic.” 

“Well…” Anna twists her hands together, looking hesitant. “If I’m honest, we could do with a food supply run. We have enough,” she says quickly. “For a while. But if the situation gets any worse…”

Hector looks horrified. “How much worse can it possibly get?”

Aiken snorts. “You haven’t seen the half of it, church boy.” 

“That’s enough,” I cut in. “I’ll do the supply run.”

Tack snaps his attention away from the window. “No chance.”

“You’re certainly not doing it,” I fire back. “I’ll go with Aiken or Anna, whichever one wants to come with me. Toby is specifically looking for you. Don’t be stupid. He’s not going to slip up if he catches you again.”

“I’ll kick his ass if he tries to get me again,” Tack snarls. “You’re not going, Min. I’ve seen what they’re capable of.”

“Should we give them a minute?” Anna murmurs.

I march over to Tack and grab his sleeve, dragging him from the building and around the corner. “They got you once,” I hiss. “Don’t be so arrogant as to believe they can’t get you again.”

“What happened to me…” Tack hesitates. “I’m not letting it happen to you. Not ever. If you walk out there, even if you come back unscathed—I’d never be able to forgive myself for letting you do that.”

“You’re not _letting_ me do anything,” I snap. “I make my own decisions, Thomas! I’m going on that supply run.”

“No, I am. You’re staying behind.”

We glare furiously at each other.

“Where did this sudden need to protect me come from?” Tack explodes. “This has never been an issue before. We’re a team, Melinda. That means we’re in this together.”

“Then stop trying to bench me, you hypocrite!”

He squeezes his eyes shut. Visibly collects himself. “Fine. You’re right. But this is a stupid idea.”

“You’re a stupid idea,” I mumble. 

He almost cracks a smile.

We stare at the ground in silence, neither of us sure where to go from here.

“I just … can't do this without you,” I say quietly. “This isn’t a new realization. It just kind of hit me suddenly how easily I could lose you.” The words sound stupid coming out of my mouth, but I say them anyway, suddenly desperately needing Tack to hear this. “Going on supply runs with a target on your back… _that_ _’_ _s_ a stupid idea. They’re going to kill you.” 

He gives me a hopeful smile. “I could kill them first.”

“ _No._ _”_

“Fine. Thought you might have updated your murder policy with the rest of your requirements to keep me alive.” He smiles wickedly at me and bumps my shoulder with his own before heading back inside. 

And I know what I have to do. 

…

I can’t hear Tack’s snoring tonight. He claims he doesn’t, but I’ve heard him snore every night since the Program’s started. _How the hell is he supposed to know, anyway?_

I empty my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. Grab my gun off the bedside table. I don’t want to use it, but when it comes down to it, I’ll shoot whoever I need to so that Tack doesn’t come after me.

Not to kill. Maybe in the leg. I’m still not a murderer. I can’t bring myself to take any more lives.

At the last moment, I scribble a note on a napkin.

_Don_ _’_ _t come after me. If you take one step into town, I_ _’_ _ll kill you myself._

And then:

_I'm sorry._

_-M_

And I slip quietly out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @tackmins


End file.
